Times that Taint
by Aenigmatic
Summary: [FINALLY COMPLETED] AU: Mulan returns home, injured, identity still concealed after the avalanche battle with the Huns. What happens 5 years after? A tale of people tainted by harsh times and broken dreams.
1. Prologue

**Sketch of Distrust **

_Ich bin ja kein Wissender im Wehe-  
so macht mich dieses große Dunkel klein;  
bist Du es aber: mach dich schwer, brich ein:  
daß deine ganze Hand an mir geschehe  
und ich an dir mit meinem ganzen Schrein._  
-Rainer Maria Rilke, "Das Studenbuch"

_[I still can't see very far yet into suffering-  
so this vast darkness makes me small;  
are you the one: make yourself powerful, break in:  
so that your whole being may happen to me,  
and to you may happen, my whole cry.]_

**Author's Note:**

_Beloved Readers, thinking of getting rid of me so easily? Not quite! _

_Another enthusiastic, if a bit mad, start to a new story, a big change from 'To Manifest Me Rightly' - no confusing parallel timelines, and set in an Alternate Universe, about 2 years after The Mummy. It's an Ardeth/Evy story this time, which I think not many people write about (I already hear the scream of protest from loyal Rick/Evy fans) and has quite a bit to do with the British Occupation of Egypt that started in 1882 and lasted all the way till 1952. _

_Well, that being said, I hope this works out! Thank you to those who have so happily helped me with the planning of this._

_Disclaimer: The characters will belong to me, if I close my eyes long enough._

**Prologue**

_London, 1926_

The glint that Egypt had made in the setting sun, the musty smell of the museum she had worked in and the uncomfortable humps of the camels with their ungraceful snorts...these were particularly fond memories.

Egypt had superimposed itself over _The Ride of the Valkyrie_s, and truth be told, its sounds and smells surpassed the screeching of the Nordic handmaidens who were floating about on stage, horribly enlarged when they inhaled and impressively belted out stanza after stanza written for the sole purpose of exhibiting the rare coloratura range that only few women were blessed (or cursed?) with.

Evelyn Carnahan sighed. Truth be told once again, she was part envious, part bored. Her voice was never and will never be operatic, the voice that London society had unfairly chased and glorified excessively. The fashionable, pretentious society that had to stretch its neck out to breathe when it was not busy worshipping fame and money.

The 'growing' artistry and thought in the upper class circles of the London snobbish society were not anything she cared for, but the orders of her employer were to be strictly obeyed.

The mysterious riders in black, gun- and sword-wielding, they called themselves the Medjai, Ardeth Bay, Rick O'Connell, Beni and the One who shall not be named.

Not that fond memories after all. Nostalgic, painful and still fear-inducing. Imhotep's - The One who shall not be named - she corrected herself hastily, not out of fear of rousing him once more, but that she thought he deserved no name, not even the last vestige of an identity; his soul was hopefully more securely bonded in the hands of Anubis than in the wrappings of perishable linen.

_Alles zum Teufel_, they could all go to the dogs, she thought, sitting stiffly in the opera box, her back ramrod straight, removing her opera glasses to rub her eyes sleepily amid the annoying screams onstage. Mr Finkley had promised her the next day off, and collapsing on her bed after a long day at work was first on her list of the utmost, most important, no-delay 'to-dos'.

The round of applause caught her unawares. She put her hands together warmly, smiled and nodded approvingly, appreciating the fact that the opera had finally ended instead of the stellar performance of the cast. Mr and Mrs Finkley were in no hurry to leave - their children were tucked in bed, secure, asleep, under the warmth of blankets, cold autumn night.

They had promised her a chauffeur and with immense gratitude she glided down the steps of the theatre, slipping on her heavy overcoat, her steps getting giddily faster and faster, oblivious to the admiring glances thrown her way, leaving the faint perfumed scent of damask rose in her wake.

She went past the swirl of conversations and the boom of the voices -

"Madam, as for the hiatus in the Continent"  
"The superiority of Wagner indeed!"  
"Not that I find Jazz utterly distasteful, but it seems that"

Past the plastered smiles and rakish top-hats -

"If you would allow me here"

"Oh, I am sorry, but another appointment awaits me." The dazzling smile did them in, she was convinced.

The car awaited her, and with a prayer of thanks Evelyn Carnahan slipped into its velvety softness, consumed and pampered thoroughly by its plush coverings.

The London air was polluted but she inhaled deeply from the window nonetheless, loving the way her breath puffed out in smoke, disappearing into the blackness.

Cold nights of London.

Cold nights of Egypt.

Nights that were spent gazing into the clear Egyptian night sky, breathing the fickle air of the desert that was stifling by day and cold as an iceberg's breath at night.

Alright, she missed Egypt, but not so much as to want to return.

She wondered if Jon was already home, that rascal of rascals, her hand moving down her dress to tug at the finely sewn fabric, lightly fingering the ruby red low-waisted dress and the wide hat that she wore now, that had captured her attention all those months ago, the fashion of America that had caught on so quickly.

The white shirt and dumpy brown long skirt would always remain her perennial favourites.

It was no fun to return to an empty large house - the inheritance from her parents had been considerable, but to squander their money seemed almost sacrilegious, so work was what she did; the traditional job of a governess, the single, educated woman who took it upon herself to train the next generation.

The house was lighted, which meant that Jon was home - a rare sight for her brother to return earlier, which meant it was also time she became a betting women on cards.

The loud slam of a bedroom door startled her.

"Evy! Will you see this! It will blow yer socks off."

"Can't it wait till morning, Jonathan? I need to sleep."

"Absolutely not. Uh-uh."

Jonathan Carnahan, the only kin she had, standing on the banister, scraps of paper in his hand.

"Patience is a virtue."


	2. The Decorations upon His Breast

**Author's Note:**

_Dear all, thank you for reading - thank you Lynn12, Sue4, Dragonheart3 for your kind comments. I hope you like this chapter; it promises more interesting things to come. Also, please be patient and bear with me for a bit - things will take a while coming together, but I assure you it definitely will. As I said earlier, the story picks up again 5 years later, with many events happening in between and we won't get wind of them yet; rather I'll be presenting characters who have lived through the 5 years and are changed because of that turbulent period. Historical nitty-gritties will be filled in and explained properly as we go along, no worries. ;-)_

_So now, we have a crumbling Middle Kingdom, the transition time between 2 Dynasties and the early unity that Emperor Wen (Or Wen Di, 'Di' simply meaning Emperor in Mandarin) had achieved was short-lived when his son Yang Di ascended the throne under suspicious circumstances. Yang Di was a slave to luxuries and the good life, building capitals in Luoyang and Changan (modern day Xi'An), and the price paid for these was probably the peace of China itself. _

_So we are back to the days of Hun threats, along with internal trouble._

_Please leave your comment and reviews! Or drop me a note anytime: vesania@gmx.net_

**Chapter 1: The Decorations upon His Breast**

_China, Spring, A.D. 615_

There was no cheering crowd, no raucous noise the way it was in the last few festivities, all of which he would now gladly welcome, for it was one of the few remaining things that out-thundered the disquiet within. The medal that was hung on his shoulder had been bestowed in near silence, under the most tragic of circumstances, on the deathbed of the previous Marshal, not during a roar of jubilation that normally accompanied it. 

Marshal Li Shang - yet another step up from where he was previously - from Captain, to General and finally to Marshal, paced the barren ground on which the tents were pitched, finally swinging himself onto the upper ledge that was partially shielded by the willow trees, perching comfortably in an irregular shaped nook. It would have satisfied the most ambitious of soldiers, had they also experienced the same meteoric rise the way he had. He wondered if the Middle Kingdom was truly desperate for warrior leaders, in the hurried way that soldiers were thrown into the disarray of political troubles as keepers of the precarious peace that now seemed to be gradually but indisputably disintegrating. 

He loved the peace that the night offered, even if the tranquillity was a mere façade. It was the only time that he guarded jealously as one would guard a beautiful wife; it offered the almost physical pleasures that accompanied the inconsistent spurts of memories and solemn meditations. 

They had conferred upon the once ruddy and fresh-faced Captain Li Shang many honours for the military campaigns that the Sui Emperors had initiated, but he found that 5 years spent in unceasing warfare had made these honours merely hard stones, casting aside the medals carelessly that he once wore with pride. These medals commended nondescript soldiers who fought well, elevating them, rewarding them, but ate at and stole their souls with every ascension in rank.

That covetous prize and reward that had been bestowed upon him now slung, bundled over his shoulder concealed. The Emperor's sword which had the governing principles of the warrior's code: integrity, honour, loyalty, justice - superlatives describing excellence and nobility in all areas - all calligraphically engraved along its slender silver spoke of one of the greatest honour that a soldier may carry on himself - it brought great satisfaction and victory surely, to the one who thrust the tip of the sword deep inside an adversary, the repeated purification of the code of honour complete as blood seeps inside the intricate engravings, demanding perfection from the warrior just as those words were in themselves perfect. Surely that code was also the parameter that defined the moral psychology of the warrior, yet was also the frontier pushed back too hard that had also near cost him his sanity. 

Yang di's command was no more than a joke; surely he only cared for the sustainability of his sybaritic lifestyle in Luoyang and Xi'an revelling in the past fatness of economic prosperity, his military orders since the failed invasion of Korea merely a formality to station his troops around the borders of his shrinking empire. 

Chi Fu had been spitefully regular in his appointments, delivering order after order of the Emperor, the latest one bringing him out into the thawing ice and swelling rivers, into the lowland plains lying adjacent to the entrance of the infamously breachable Tung Shao Pass, the white capped mountains a mocking contrast to the great amount red blood spilt at its feet. Battle-weary when he was not yet thirty, Shang did not think it bode well. He swore softly at the moon rays that flitted gently through the slight canopy of the trees as a jagged peak pierced his vision and triggered a sudden memory 5 years ago, the way that peak was made to trigger off an avalanche. 

Ping**. The flower vase. It was hardly any wonder that the child grew into his name and might even physically resemble one. 

_Captain Li,_ he had insisted weakly, through that alarmingly pale face of his, _please, follow me no more. Let me make the rest of the journey home myself._

That strange and elusive boy-soldier who had bested him finally in the art of war despite the rare slight frame that rivalled the thinnest boy in the Middle Kingdom, and injured his side in that glorious moment as the ice rolled down. Yet with such bravery under his coat, that boy had cried bitterly as his wound festered, begging to go home, a request and plea that had both saddened and surprised him. Ping had never told him the exact name of the village in which he lived - Fa Zhou the war veteran had chosen to settle in obscurity and surround his remaining days with constructed serenity, what was possibly the perfect compensation after years of unrest. 

Shang had watched motionless, as Ping's horse supported his owner's slight figure in its calming trot, disappearing into the passes of the mountains. Try as he might, he could not shrug off that singular memory the same way he easily shrugged off his outer coat. But that boy had never been -

Hurried footsteps wilted prematurely his blooming memories. 

"Marshal!" 

He turned, ears ready, body tensed. 

"Villages 300 li of the Pass have been razed. The fortified borders have been torn. The Huns come." 

**********  
*Hua Ping/Fa Ping = Flower Vase in Mandarin


	3. The Armour She Dons

**Author's Note: **

_Hi all, time for another update! Thank you Wilddragonfire, SueQ, Lynn12, dynast, Lanenkar for your reviews! Phoenix23 - *LOL* My historical references are simply the product of a google search. ;-) I knew that the time period in which Mulan lived could be anytime from the Northern/Southern Kingdoms and the Tang Dynasty...but a lot of sources say that it's the Sui Dynasty (the dynasty sandwiched in between these 2) in which she lived. So I 'googled' it, and did not exactly come out with a wealth of information because it is a very short dynasty. But it has allowed me to slip these characters in, and the lack of information on certain aspects, well...provides me with the liberty to add on what my overactive imagination commands. _

_ Well, I guess it helps that I do know a bit of Chinese (Language!) Just a bit. _

_Onto the storyI have to admit that I am not adhering strictly to historical timelines and locations and have bent them a bit to suit my wilful purposes. *Evil Laugh* Remember! Lots of things have happened in 5 years and all will be revealed in time! My underlying rationale is that both Shang and Mulan are always bound by a sense of honour and piety, which is inherent in traditional Chinese Culture anyway._

_Thank you for following the unpredictable updates though. Sometimes inspiration strikes, and sometimes it abandons me. _

_Please do leave your comments/reviews. Or Drop me a note at: vesania@gmx.net _

**Chapter 2: The Armour She Dons**

_China, Spring, A.D 615_

The buckle was tight, her hair was once again shorn and she could not control the involuntary wince that twisted her face. It was not so much as her appearance that now bothered her; it was more of the lingering and tormenting reminder that she was once again alone as she had been in that army camp those years ago. 

There was no mirror to stare into, a luxury that was scarcely afforded to commoners. But the fit of the armour was familiar, the sword by her side a comforting legacy and slight musky scent from her warrior's boots quietly nostalgic. Yet one did not need the aid of a mirror to see reflections of tanned, weathered hands, and experienced-creased eyes.

There was nothing left in her blackened surroundings; the devastation of the wild landscape now caused her to close her eyes to them, willing the harsh, lofty greenery back into her mind's eye. Fortunately her memory stirred; it kept her alive now, numbing the astounding curse of loss upon loss that careened down a path of collision and madness the day she left her village - her parents, her grandmother 

Even the graves that she stood in front of were makeshift and hastily constructed, the dirt and ash coverings an offending, aberrant mound to her. She knelt, with guilt, humility and sorrow, knowing joy did not return easily. It was an injustice and almost a desecration of their living testimonies really, that they had been denied proper burials because of the sudden Hun invasion, these people who had become her family after their efforts to heal her old war injury as best as they could. 

She did not want them to remain anonymousrecognition in death, however brief, would have honoured them. And perhaps she could give it now, and not withhold her gratitude and grief in this wrinkled place. It took little effort to pace herself, and in a quick physical burst of movement that required merely a few steps of simple but exact muscular action, she sifted from the dust a long and small burnt piece of wood and with it, traced their names over the 2 mute earth mounds in a deliberate calligraphic motion without breaking her step. 

The wind would blow these indentations away, or the rain would have washed these clean. But these ephemeral carvings marked them in death as they were in life, and it was, for now, enough for her. 

_Forgive me, Feiyan and Ushahin, for not saving you when you saved me. Thank you for giving me back my life. I wish I could return yours to you, to live again free of cares. _

And then she felt propelled into the miles that separated this unknown village from the great capital without risking any backward glances, eyeing critically the occasional troop of soldiers that paraded around its outskirts, all of whom did not know still, the extent of strife and bloodshed that laced China's borders. It seemed that the frantic conscription for soldiers happened on a weekly basis. 

The return of the Huns merely struck dull fear and ill-concealed excitement in the youngest of soldiers. She had wished to shout and rave against the horrors of war and violence, wanting to shake into them the blood-curdling terror of running from an enemy and the earth shattering pain of loss. 

Strangely, the people who lined the streets of Luoyang were still boisterous, the contained economy of commodities thriving among sellers and buyers; she marvelled at the generated noise from children, wives and scholars, looking out in particular for a desk and a queue. 

It did not take very long to discover that place; it was tucked in a quieter, darker corner in a particular perpendicular meander of the city, the queue rapidly dwindling under a threatening grey sky. The unpleasant surprise and greatest irritation, perhaps, was to again see that skinny man who craved her downfall with his slender, pointy brush and his ever-ready scroll in hand, sitting at that desk with a flinty look on his face, conscripting the latest round of soldiers. 

Chi Fu. 

She wondered if he remembered her as a slight trepidation descended. 

But he had not even bothered to look up when she walked up with that still-uncomfortable manly gait and an artificially deepened voice, stating herself in an irregular exhalation of breath as Fa Ping. She was handed that small slip of paper, already creased from her tight grip, and rudely shoved away as he attended to the next in line, a slight, lanky boy who was probably no older than her when she took her father's place. 

The name, boldly and carelessly scrawled on the conscription slip said Fa Ping, not Fa Zhou as it had last time. She sighed, never totally free of the memory. Mulan, or Ping - What did it matter now, when everybody faced the more urgent task of unwinding a giant that now heaved with dying fires, crumbling with alarming speed? She had played that hazardous name game years ago, with a false bravado in the face of her commanding officer, and the torrent of memories still haunted her everyday, more so now that she stood in her old full battle armour. 

Tomorrow, she would meet her new commanding officer along with the other fresh-faced boys; perhaps he would be a captain who would be in likeness of the Captain Shang she remembered. There was a comfort and almost wilful glee in knowing that she possessed already the skills that they painstakingly needed to be taught; surely her slight frame would now arouse no suspicion and be of no consequence when she proved herself able to hoist buckets of water up mountain trails or perform harsh drill routines and callisthenics in the days to come. 

Many boys had signed up, she thought in dismay - boys who thought that war made them men, initiating them into a rougher world; she saw many of them walk in the direction of inns and brothels, foolishly spending their last night in drunken revelry and callous merry-making, absorbing momentary pleasures from wine, women and song. 

Perhaps it did. But one could not envision the change nor feel it until the experience descended with ruthlessness. 

**********  
_Ahmany questions I foresee? ;-) What on earth is Mulan doing with strange sounding characters? Where is her family? What happened in the past 5 years?!! PatienceHeehee!_


	4. The Move and The Meeting

**Author's Note:**  
_Dear all,  
Thank you so much so reviewing! It is, in all honesty, your reviews that give me steam to continue writing. To Keleshnar, Jewlz, Sarah, Flyinghamsterofdoom, Lynn12 and Wildragonfire - thank you for your encouragement! Apologies for the sporadic updates though - am still trying to plan this plot out, even as I type this! _

_One more time: It's not a 'light' Disney story that I am attempting here - characters will be darker than usual, and less 'fixed' and contrived. Perhaps you can call it a 're-interpretation' of Mulan even. _

_Moving right along now.a slightly longer chapter to enjoy! _

_Comments? Reviews? Would love your contributions! vesania@gmx.net _

**Chapter 3: The Move and The Meeting**

_You have become my meditation -   
The beauty of your grasses, fresh with rain,   
And close beside your window the music of your pines.   
I take into my being all that I see and hear,   
Soothing my senses, quieting my heart_  
- Qiu Wei, After Missing the Recluse on the Western Mountain

Momentarily, she froze - listening to the fading cry of a bird as it fled into the dusk, rejoicing in the glorious early spring evening. 

And suddenlyrunning footsteps, and a calculated sixteen paces, and thena shout of triumph! The flash of a blade, and the rush of air caused by a quick spin. 

They eyed each other briefly and disappeared into a whirl of martial movements that ended as soon as it started, when the superior of the two emerged. 

"Ping!" He cried out in horror, unable to stop the clumsy blade from its downward swing that guaranteed a flesh wound. But she saw his parries and thrusts and rolled onto her side as quick as lightning before the tip pierced the earth. The air that she smelt seemed to be thinly fire-breathed and suddenly flower-perfumed as she thudded onto the ground and lay on her back, now facing that same sharp tip that he had immediately yanked back up from the ground and laughed greatly in concession; it was indeed a fight well lost. 

"I win." Simple, childlike elucidation from the one who had toppled her balance and brought it to dust. XingTai only gasped slightly for breath now. She approved heartily; he was the youngest of them all, a lot greener than her, she thought ruefully, but he had improved vastly in the past weeks, growing out of the thin frame that she knew she herself once had. 

She roughly grabbed the hand that he cordially extended to her still shaky with the surge of adrenaline, pulling herself up and dusting the remnants of the rich soil that had stained her pants. 

"Of course," She replied mildly, smiling at the gleam of pride that shone in his stance. "You will best me anytime now. Well earned." He lightly clapped her shoulder in camaraderie, not noticing the slight stiffening of her form at that contact; she was still unused to the free touches and claps that the men seemed to bestow on each other unthinkingly. Five years and that lesson had not been thoroughly mastered. 

"You have my gratituderespect, Ping," He admitted hesitantly. "I owe my skills of the sword and hand combat styles to you." 

"We are after all, to move out tomorrow. The playing field will be there." Ping appeared nonchalant, waving his acclaim off dismissively, turning his face away. Praises and compliments failed to coax the reddish hue from her cheeks as it had in the past, that lifetime ago when she had stood in front of the matchmaker blushing with shame, a violet red. "I daresay you'll need all that I have showed youand more."

Together they walked to the shed to return their weapons, drinking from their canteens of water, trying futilely to slake a thirst that was found in deeper recesses of the mind rather than in a parched throat. It was time for the evening meal, Mulan observed, the other soldiers raucous in their laughter and speech, as they collected their soups that helped drive the lingering trace of winter from their bodies. Theoretically, they were of the same rank - newly appointed, if not, anonymous, protectors of the land, but in the weeks of training Ping had gained prominence with the unmistakably conditioned state of his muscles and the ease with which he ran through each strengthening exercise. It was a secret, inward laugh that she enjoyed at their expense sometimes. It was indeed strange to see the struggles of the new soldiers through eyes that now could very well sympathise. 

They were finally 'battle-ready', as Chi Fu had decided, after these few, short weeks of rigorous training. Many wore their calluses and wounds proudly even before riding into the path of destruction, the premature badge of honour. 

"The grand Marshal has commanded that troops must once again strengthen the border and the northern wastelands," had been Chi Fu's only but haughty explanation for the intensive training that was not stretched to its full, original length of a half-year. "You are to meet him several _li_ west of the Tung Shao Pass before continuing onwards." The Captain had frowned, displeased and uncertain; the newly appointed soldiers fidgeted as they received their orders.

The necessary cruelty of callisthenics had brought on laboured grunts, prolonged groans, needless railing and endless complaints. But perhaps also a reluctant camaraderie and grudging friendships that blossomed among unlikely allies - it was again nostalgically pleasing to witness bonds that she herself had briefly experienced with Yao, Chien Po, Lingit was all too familiar; she realised that such memories kept her warm, the familiar slangs, the resemblance that it all bore to the first time she joined - even this captain's face

The aghast look on the captain's face would have been comical, that odd mixture of horror and disbelief which were unfortunately lost on the huffing recruits. Captain Zhihui - of intellect and scholarly learning - she wondered what had made him take this path into the military instead of the wealth and fame guaranteed to those who flocked to the imperial examinations? 

Night purged the anticipatory cackles and all fell into fretful sleep, dreaming of another realm where impossible fears and inexplicable joys mingled as distorted reality. 

The horses had been readied days before - oh the overwhelming memories! - white, stately horses that only officers of ranks sat upon as they prepared for the move towards Tung Shao in the freeze of the morning. Progress was steady; the weather was gracious to permit the days to bleed into each other save for the occasional ghoulish lash of rain that brought slight frost. 

She sighed constantly as they passed the inundated rice fields framed by the steep mountains, ignoring the winks of the men and the blushes of the field workers. Picturesque and bold, consciously humming the song that some soldiers belted heartily those years ago. They wanted _a girl worth fighting for_. Yet this sight vanished as they passed into the stark wasteland that hid behind the jagged peaks, beyond the winding, treacherous route. 

The glorious spread of white flags with the red coat of arms floated and waved in the cold breeze - a sign that they had reached the battlefront, the unalterable entry into bloodshed. 

Costly. 

It was curiosity that drove Mulan at length out of her own tent to seek out the largest tent that sat in the middle of the neat rows of white, tiptoeing around agitated voices lest her footsteps were heard. 

"orders cannot be disobeyed!"

"only to fortify the borders!"   
  
It could only be Chi Fu who courageously pitted himself against the captains, generals and marshals.   


Though she was careful not to cast an unwelcome shadow upon the pristine white material, the tent opening flipped unexpectedly open with a dizzying speed that made her reel forward and out stalked a tall figure who wore his military decorations wearily, his face etched with lines in the moonlight. 

Marshal Li Shang! 

That face and the source of the onslaught of fragmented memories that stirred the sweetest agony. 

She crept unseen towards the side of the tent, with all intentions to disappear into the looming shadows fully, willing the pounding of her pulse to slow. But her trembling feet became clumsy in their haste to retreat from such a sight that could only be exquisite torture and she tumbled onto herself, successfully stifling the grunt of pain but not the telltale crack of a traitorous twig. 

His head snapped up immediately; he whirled sharply and dropped into a crouch, his arm snaking out to grab her collar, pulling both of them up till her toes barely touched the ground. Yet in the dim light she saw his eyes settle on her face, widening in great surprise, causing his fingers to lose their strength, gracelessly releasing his captive onto the ground. 

Again she thudded onto her back, accompanied first by a whispered expletive and then a raspy exclamation that was her name.


	5. Words

**Author's Note:**  
_Dear all, thank you, thank you so much for your kind comments and pushes to write more. The update cometh much sooner than I thought even! To Andaliri, Kina1, Jewlz, Phoenix23, Lynn12, Wilddragonfire, and Flyinghampsterofdoom - for youI hope this chapter measures up to what must already be very high expectations of the meeting (finally!) between Mulan and Shang - a chapter dedicated to what transpired between these two. _

_Please read! (and Review, of course) ;-) Am at my happiest when I find one - it does help fuel the imagination and the speed at which this story comes out!!_

_Comments/ Questions/ Reviews? vesania@gmx.net_

**Chapter 4: Words**

_"If one cannot adjust oneself to the human world and heaven, how can he accomplish his achievement on the basis of transformation?" _  
- From the Decree of Sui YangDi, on the building of the 2nd capital of Luoyang, December 17th, 604 A.D

Eyes that bore into each other's, in the silence that magnified the occasional mourn of a nocturnal prowler and its prey. 

"Ping!" The expulsion of breath into that single syllable made her hold hers for that passing infinite second, apprehensive ecstasy and joyful fear which accompanied the sudden, inexplicable inward sting. 

She looked up somewhat abashed, the awkward meeting coupled with the exhaustion of the past days now grating her nerves. It was a fumble to stand at attention, in which she mumbled softly, head bowed in deference, a momentary return to the posture of a deferring female - or that of a lower-ranking officer. 

"Marshal Li." The slightly roughened voice, the soldier's bearing - she was pleased with her outward presentation. 

It did appear that he was a changed man; there was no doubt that he was impressive magnetic in his gait and lean physique, though his speechit seemed brusquely clipped and short, its softness lost when the bitterness of lost idealism descended. And she searched in vain, desperately, for the gruff, yet compassionate captain that she had known briefly so long ago. But answers were not to be found merely in faces that bore beatings of time; it was a deeper dig that demanded stellar courage of her - a point where she, for all the comparatively less reckless exploits - did not think she had reached yet - the stars were still not quite yet in her grasp. 

The silence that followed the loss of words thereafter was strangely also a compensation for it; comrades -or student and teacher, who under the separation of time found themselves once again strangers. 

Speech was eventually regained, after its temporary desertion, as words were stuttered out. 

"It isgood to see you well" Li Shang's proffered hand was heavy on her shoulder and she tensed slightly from its seeping warmth. 

"Bodily?Yes, 5 years is enough time for one to recover sufficiently. I think just a scar is left," She offered a wry half-smile in the artificially deepened voice which she hoped was the same as he remembered, if he remembered at all. 

"Where have you been? Why this wait-?"And as sudden as words had left him, they flooded back with an intensity of an advancing army bent on slaughter and conquest; he tripped over them in the haste to release them, wanting to ask this slight soldier who had curiously been in his thoughts of late every question that had swum darkly. 

"Sir -" The first word was barely out - yet he held up his hand, retracting from the intention of extracting the details of the past years, as if sparing the both of them further awkwardness. 

Falling back upon military concerns he knew as safe ground, that verbal return to training and assignments was nevertheless tempered with the ease and familiarity he wanted to regain with his former officer, like the ceaseless and effortless flow of unhindered rivers. Surely this familiarity that he was beginning to think of as a comfort and luxury, was not lost on Ping -

"I have received reports, Ping. As unwilling as Chi Fu is, he has admitted that Captain Zhihui's platoon of newly trained soldiers have been nothing short of outstanding. You have received special mentionZhihui has told me about youhow your performance surpasses every one else'show you taught others when you thought he was not looking," He shook his head ruefully. There was barely disguised pride; it glowed in his voice, as he marvelled at the change in this soldier, sturdier, less slight and _effeminate_ as he remembered - changes which he wished to ask - questions that he wanted to tip and roll off his tongue. 

Li Shang allowed himself a nod and an imperceptible hint of a smile. 

She had stiffened considerably at such praise, bristling as she fought the natural instinct to colour and the expressionless countenance that emerged from this battle exhausted her. Her acknowledgement was wordless, a small inclination of her head as she had observed men in power do, her gaze unfocused. 

The Marshal watched her closely, and observed the tiredness that swept across her fragile features. 

"The day has offered enough to usI have been keeping youit is understandable that you require rest. I will meet the troops tomorrow at sunrise." With semblance of formality, Shang strode in a direction that presumably was his tent, but she was frozen for yet another minute, overwhelmed. But her legs unconsciously walked her in another direction, towards the solitary stream that sparkled against the marshes, delighting in its crystalline clarity that called out to her on her earlier romps around the area.

The precious stream in which she slipped into for her bath later was appropriately warm and relaxing, and its soft current aphrodisiacal enough to push that extraordinary encounter which her mind screamed to analyse yet could not allow. 

What were such absurd odds that she had been once again thrown in front of Li Shang, now a Marshal, an officer so high in rank that she had 5 years ago already thought twice to approach as a captain, and could now barely speak merely the greatest of all formalities to, effectively forbidding even the slightest hint of emerging camaraderie? But then they were altered people from the younger, idealistic versions they were; she saw that he was a different man from the subtle changes in his battle-weary face and it was impossible to not notice his acknowledgement at her more placid and equally fatigued stance. 

The scout was nevertheless for the Huns, Mulan reminded herself harshly, not for themselves. All that was foremost in their minds, all that preoccupied and burned their thoughts had to be that of battle and blood and re-conquest - China demanded that much, as much as the first wives of emperors did. There were duties to fulfil, laborious tasks to be mapped out, perhaps even irrational commands to obey and annoyingly pesky government officials to live down. 

As confused as Mulan was, it was still easier for Shang to relegate uncertainty to the back of his mind - there was such joy at the sight of a familiar face that the dourness of the ongoing campaign against the northern invaders had momentarily retreated to the fringe of his consciousness. 

At the crack of dawn, all semblance of order had to be raised high as flags and he chose to savour the short passing of the night reliving that fateful meeting with Ping, wondering what their unlikely crossing of paths again meant. He carried buckets of water around the winding mountain route once more, twirled wooden poles in front of wide-eyed recruits, rode the battles in the snow, crying out in painful cheer when the snow fell, with the arrow lodged in his body, and finally wanted to weep tears of fury when he saw his soldier wounded in the side after firing the last canon. 

_From now on, you have my trust_the phrase that now tormented him the first time in five years, the day that he relinquished his life and the lives of his troops into her hands, which he had hoped were large enough to conquer and destroy, but were not. 


	6. Her Reluctant Agreement

**Author's Note: **

_Thank you all, for your reviews! Sorry for the slight delay in update (understatement!) but I have been ill for a while, still recovering slowly and haven't the strength till yet to do anything proper. _

_Wellhere goeschapter 5 for you all._

_Comments/reviews: vesania@gmx.net _

**Chapter 5: Her Reluctant Agreement**

Mulan welcomed the grunts and moans from outside that signalled the inevitable rise of the sun; the night in her own tent had been nerve wrecking and cold. 

Tung Shao had been a splintered, painful memory that was still lodged deeply in her skin and its remembrance as always, surfaced a black passion and delicate tension that found themselves manifesting in her callisthenics, unconsciously precise that very dawn, under the watchful eyes of her captain, Chi Fu and the marshal. 

Li Shang had watched the drills that the soldiers had performed as part of their morning routine, noting their unpolished but enthusiastic charges at one another. His eyes searched the fresh faces of the recruits, his face expressionless as he stalked past the line of waiting, panting soldiers, nevertheless impressed only by the lone soldier who stood slightly apart from the rest, smaller in stature. Ping had not disappointed and had far exceeded Zhihui's recommendation; his moves during the sparring exchange were sure-footed and almost calculated, yet certain elements of his defence and attacks had contained strains of foreign martial mastery and almost unnatural bends, positions, postures and angles that were not part of the traditional Qin stances of warfare. 

He frowned, wanting to plumb and stir that placid waters that Ping merely appear to be floating on, knowing now that it ran deep.

The sip that he had taken of Ping's reappearance was now not enough - he needed to know more in a burgeoning frustration that he could not quite place his finger on, craving to unravel the additional bales of mysteries that Ping had wrapped around himself. Captain Zhihui could only tell him as much as he knew of other recruits; why should Ping be any different? But the fleeting look of horror had crossed Zhihui's face and he had bowed his exit in haste, his usual dignified demeanour absent, thinking that the Marshal's fetish for young soldiers had indeed surfaced with the lack of women to assuage their sexual cravings. 

Shang sighed cynically, feeling like a fool. How was he to enquire without rousing the suspicions of his commanding soldiers, or worse, without having them think that he cavorted with young boys, a popular sport that he was deeply appalled with? 

He heard the soldiers milling about their tents, enjoying their hard-earned lunch breaks - they were to redirect certain tributaries south of Tung Shao for the next few days at least, dumping into rivers loads of sands, burying the water sources that were surely sustaining Hun tribes that lurked at the nearby borders. Yangdi had certainly been comparable to the great Qin King, but his massive projects had nonetheless never reached that same grand scale of Qin Shi Hung and his vision of the Great Wall, his grand canal that connected the West/East waterways did not extend inland north that it kept out the nomadic tribes.* 

Their break in the morning had slit open an opportunity for conversation and his summons for her into his tent had been quick. Her soft entry had still snapped his head upwards, his balled fists that were familiar punishments of tension uncurling slowly. 

"Marshal Li," She greeted him tentatively, eyes averted. 

"Sit down, Ping." His order was brief, curt and she wordlessly obeyed; the excruciating moment of the night before had all but vanished, yet her musings were interrupted by a map that he had unfurled in front of her, spread in such a fashion that it lined and moulded the low table marvellously. 

"What you see before you is the region that surrounds this camp"

For the next few minutes, he launched rapidly into detailed description of terrain that were inaccessible or inhospitable, and the number of contingents that were sent to landfills, and mountainous regions that concealed passes and ambush opportunities and with the passing of each minute, he observed Ping growing unsettled. 

His pause was long enough for Mulan to open her mouth and lift her hand halfway in surprise, a peculiar, comedic animation that he had never thought to see. 

"Whydo you tell me this?" It was bewilderment that reached Shang's ears and he returned a knowing smile. 

"Do you fear a hidden agenda?" Li Shang asked grimly. "Does not a commanding officer choose when to reveal information to whom he pleases?" 

"Sir, I think you have misunderstood," Mulan frowned at his cool barb, levelling her voice low, speaking over the top of his head. She blinked, answering with a veiled taunt. "I merely wanted to know why you have chosen tobestow such an honour upon a newly arrived soldier in camp, one who is of no rank in particular." 

The marshal narrowed his eyes. 

"Did you know, Ping," He chose not to answer her directly. "That your reckless and foolish bravery that you displayed in the spectacular fall of snow had failed to eliminate Shan Yu? Such evidence now blooms around us, in the form of invasions and the desperate markings of territory." 

His revelation had not shocked her deeply; she had known people to survive heavy snowfalls, miracles nonetheless, that were unselfishly granted to even those who were pitted against them. 

"Sir, as remorseful as I can feel now about my reckless feat that had not saved anybody nor destroyed the enemy, how can then, bravery as you have said, a guarantee of a successful conquest? It only allows fine remembrances and perhaps, unusable, broken bodies as well for an unfortunate few." She answered quietly, stung by his honesty. 

"Ping," He sighed greatly, "Did I not tell you those years ago that you had my trust?"

She nodded hesitantly, unsure of the circles that he seemed to draw around her.

"I meant what I said then, I mean it now still. It is the only reason that drives me to act on it - and I hope that you might measure up to it," He gestured brusquely. "I act in faith, and hope to bridge this gap."

She nodded again, unable to speak, her eyes urging him to continue, which he gladly did. 

"I am asking you now, to accompany me on the exploration of the region that is still uncovered by troops - a place where we will be very close to the dwelling of nomadic tribes. It requires days, or perhaps weeks, away from the base camp here. Would you then, given my explanation which I hope is now satisfactory, come along?"

That he had asked and not commanded as the marshal touched Mulan infinitely; in that rare glimpse she had unearthed the odd, lingering humility about him that had never left, that captain, and now marshal who still struggled to live in his father's shadow and castigated himself when he found that he could not. Huffing pomposity and glazed arrogance suited only slouched fools like Chi Fu; it was never in Li Shang's character. 

Shang found that he needed to suddenly qualify his rationale; he told her then that Chi Fu and Zhihui would run the camp in his absence, feeling the secret thrill that the government official would bother someone else in his blissful absence. 

"We will ride into unknown and dangerous regions," He warned frankly. "There is every chance that we may not return alive. Your skills are remarkable now, Ping," He observed candidly, standing up from his still, seated pose. "Surely that also leaves you the best candidate."

"Yes, sir, I will go," She replied mildly, inclining her head in agreement, standing up when he did, her eyes still lowered, to his regret. 

**********  
**Historical Note:**  
_*Yang Di had, from 605-610 A.D. embarked on the construction of the 1795km long Grand Canal that ran North/South of China, linking important rivers (the Yangtze river, the Huai river, the Yellow river) that ran West to East, a massive undertaking and mobilisation of manpower that required the effort of 6 million men to build. The Grand Canal is considered one of his greatest achievements. _

_**The reference to Emperor Qin (Shi Huang di or Qin Shi Huang) is a famous one; the man who unified China (in fact, the word 'China' has its roots from ' Qin') in 221 B.C with the building of the great wall. Sui Yang Di is sometimes compared to him, especially when it came to projects on a grand scale and the exhaustive use of manpower. _


	7. The Capture

**Author's Note:**

_Dear all, thank you for reading and reviewing - Lynn12, Wilddragonfire, A.Lee, Saddam (!!), emeral-sea, jodelyn, Greeneyes7, Black C, ! *Grin* Does Shang cavort with young boys? ;-p I should hope not! _

_Hints of Mulan's past in this chapter. All to be revealed a while later. But first, we hear of what Shang has been up to. And yesfor those who wonder about her identitywe'll find out how it all becomes inadvertently revealed! Not here thoughbut very very soon. _

_Well, as for writing longer chaptersunfortunately this is all I can manage right now, and Times that Taint is actually something 'new' in the story-telling front for me, since I wanted to try out something with somewhat scanter descriptions and lighter prose than what I normally write. So only the most important happenings and dialogues will be written in order to advance the plot, even at the risk of making this whole novella contrived sounding! (Historical fillers are given as an endnote though, so I hope it makes it easier to imagine) This is a very short story, written deliberately in a 'skeletal' manner, truly, nothing lengthy at all or drawn out. _

_Comments/reviews? Do drop me a note sometime!   
vesania@gmx.net_

**Chapter 6: The Capture**

The faint glimmer of fading sunlight and the early spring wind had cooled the air considerably, and Mulan watched the dancing swirls of her exhalation disappearing as they restored themselves into the atmosphere. 

Two horses showed no sign of slowing despite the inexorable nightfall; distance needed to be gained as far as the last slit of daylight allowed them. 

"I wonder if Yang Di had committed a grave error when he chose to drive the Monguls from the northern terrain," Shang sighed. "It is a well-known fact that the emperor before Yang Di had was of mixed northern blood descent." 

Her eyes widened, but it was an answer that she found within; Shang had merely voiced her inclinations. 

"The Sui Dynasty was built on the support of the northern tribes, in that year the south was unified. Had you not known?" He asked, baffled, seeing her open expression that told him of her lack of knowledge on the Sui history. 

She was astonished at his revelation; never had she expected a more intricate twining of blood and bloodshed yet urged him to continue, absorbing his tale with a thirst that she had not quenched in the years she stepped foot away from Chinese soil. 

The rebuilding of their companionship however, was the laboured equivalent of the reconstruction of towns that had been razed to the ground, an act that took an infinitesimal proportion of the time it had taken to grow. Words were at first, forced and few between them, yet with each passing night and with each scanty meal, each caught fragmented glimpses of the polarity of the type of lives that they had led in the gap of 5 years. But she still guarded her secrets jealously, her identity and gender above all, knowing that the knowledge she carried could be the very same weapon of her execution under the Marshal's weighty hand, one that once given up, effectively effused another with total power over her. 

"Wen Di ascended the throne with the approval of the northern nomads - in return for their peace and their territory," Shang nodded ruefully, "And now his son tries to drive them out, wanting to reclaim his space. The acts of the last generation had apparently meant nothing to him." 

"Had not Yang Di ascended the throne under suspicious circumstances?" She questioned and he again nodded. 

"Yang Di was forced to be a dutiful son, conforming to his father's frugal standards as long as it needed. After his father's death, he had acted in defiance of his father's legacy, pursuing a projects and expansions that Wen Di would not have approved of, even taking for his own his father's concubine." 

She realised that he was angry; it was obvious in his stiff posture and ragged breathing, sickened by the surrounding maladies. 

"Now the Turks and Monguls invade the borders again; perhaps Shan Yu leads them," He shrugged helplessly. "Imagine, Ping. Peace unravels with a wrong move. How much more then," he questioned rhetorically, "would a simple but so _misguided_ command lead to unnecessary death and waste?" 

Shang halted his horse, dismounting in a glade in which he told her they would spend the last night before arriving in the border regions. Thankfully, he had always chosen the places for their sojourns well - heavily wooded areas with streams or stagnant ponds, his only request that one kept watch while the other bathed, a request to which she had been more than happy to accede to. 

Mulan had been long accustomed to mobility and the carrying of her scant provisions on horseback, and the distance that their horses took them was a indeed a regressive, exhilarated plunge into the times she spent with Feiyan and Ushahin, their heathen folk melodies branded into her vocal chords that suddenly demanded they be given sound once more. The long years had passed without her thinking of her family and the small village that they had resided in; she wondered wretchedly if they were alive, or if they had already died in bitterness and anticipation for her return that had never materialised. 

She began to hum, the soft tune of _Beyish Namesi_* which wafted like the pungent smoke of prayer incense, brought to an abrupt halt when she heard Shang's faint footsteps tapping across the wooded glade. He emerged with his body still wet, only wearing his pants and his coat flung casually over his shoulder, motioning for her to go while he prepared the fire. 

She returned and found him staring blankly into the fire. 

"You have been quiet these days, Ping," He remarked, tossing twigs into the cackling flames. 

"I was just thinking."

She gave him an assessing glance, wondering if he would tell her more of his experience with the Sui army. 

He sighed. 

"We are possibly a thousand_ li_ from the nearest village. Do you truly believe that military rank holds importance and weight in these plains? Even so, there is after all, little meaning in law and order. The absurdity of ranks, if you have not yet noticed, is a desperate move of the government, or what is left of a ruling body, to restore a semblance of order," Shang told her quietly. "You may speak freely, Ping, and have no fear that you will offend me." 

But she chose instead to draw out more from him than she was willing to let flow out of her, asking him in a series of questions of the years that he spent after the avalanche. She wanted him to speak freely instead, wanting to see him vulnerable first. 

And he obliged her and told her all, his tale tearing one part of the wall that lay between them, her gaze growing more compassionate. He spoke of his return home after the long period of relative peace after the ill-fated Hun battle with her; he remembered the docile wife that his mother had chosen for him and her death while breech-birthing a premature child, his subsequent enlistment to fight the Kingdom of Koguryo, a disastrous war effort in which he had barely survived. The men with whom he had retreated had been barely able to haul themselves out of the sludge and the blood, amid the victorious screams of the Koguryo army, many collapsing on Chinese soil dead, smiles plastered on their faces, knowing that they died in their own land. 

"Heavens, Ping," He passed a hand over his eyes, fatigued again, as though the mere spinning of his compelling, tragic tale wore his very joints down. "I could not do much to save myself, much less anyone who stumbled past in me carrying their horrendous injuries"

That he had been one of the rare survivors was enough reason for YangDi to bestow royal honours upon his shoulder and his meteoric rise through the ranks; he felt again the disgust at the ease at which survivors easily became heroes in the eyes of the people, simply because there seemed no other to crown. 

The silence which followed his recounting was long, stretched out - both felt drained of words, but the time for further reflection was prematurely severed by the sudden gallop of horses and the terrible cries of the convoluted nuances of the Mongolian tongue. 

The Turkic tribes!

They scrambled to their feet, only to be hauled upwards roughly by the brawny strength of the herd of passing riders who slanted themselves sideways to knock them unconscious with the hard blows of clubs. The reins on their horses had been cut, joining the ranks of even more advancing riders who again disappeared into the darkness. 

But their limp frames had not fully crumpled to the ground when they were carelessly dragged by their collars, flung onto the fearsome Turkic horses, the lonely, fragile fire that now burned into embers the only trace of their presence. 

**********  
***Beyish Namasi -** _Melody of Paradise, which I pilfered from YoYo Ma's album in which he plays the music of the Silk Road. _

****For the sake of remembrance: **  
_The Sui Dynasty lasted from 589-618 A.D (38 years), and the pre-Sui years were filled with conflict with the northern tribes and warlords who tried to assert their authority over each other. Finally, in 589 A.D, a man of mixed northern blood called Yang Jian became the first Sui Emperor, also known as Wen Di, only by making peace with several warlords and the northern tribes for a unified China. _

_His death was a suspected murder believed to have been engineered by his own son, who came to be known as Yang Di. Yang Di reversed policies made by his father, undoing the short peace when he drove the northern tribes out of the border regions. He was not a true black villain but at most, an ambivalent character that many historians still try to figure out. _

*****The Battle of the Kingdom of Koguryo (Korea)**  
_The Sui Dynasty had launched several, frequent attacks on Koguryo. In the last battle effort, Yang Di had sent 2 million soldiers to invade the Kingdom, but Koguryo, under the great Korean strategist Ulchi Mundok, had expelled the Chinese troops with this unified army and the Korean population. _

_General Mundok, in the famous Battle of Salsu (612 A.D), had employed the 'ChongYa' ('Scorched earth' tactic), evacuating the civilians southwards, leaving a ' field of nothing'. He had built iron-clad bastion around the river Ryoha, blocking enemy lines which led to Pyongyang and lured the Sui army to the Salsu River 30 miles north of Pyongyang. The Koguryo army had retreated several times, giving the Sui army the illusion of victory, until they found themselves trapped between the Salsu river and the heavily guarded Pyongyang fortress. _

_Only less than 2700 Sui soldiers out of the 2 million managed to retreat. _


	8. Trapped in a Night Eternal

**Author's Note: **

_Dear readers: Thank you so much for your kind comments. Well, I can't promise long chapters, but this much I can say - and that is, the story will eventually be complete and you guys won't be left hanging. I might not be able to update for a while though, so in the meantime, enjoy this chapter._

_Angst alert! There, a very strange dream sequence on the Battle of Salsu, played out in Shang's mind. As for what happened in this battle, see the endnote of Chapter 7. Taken from history and as usual, re-written and described with liberty. I thought it interesting to do a 're-creation' of what might have happened rather than let it be skimmed through as part of a dialogue. A more Shang-centered chapter for a change, this one, well, at least ¾ of it. It's more of a flashback chapter. _

_Comments/Reviews very very much appreciated! vesania@gmx.net_

**Chapter 7: Trapped in Night Eternal**

_It was fear that had driven the emperor to war and now they marched resolutely onwards. Gossip was potent, idle talk unfolding during the long journey north. _

_"Mundok fears the Tujue" Someone had casually mentioned._

_"Perhaps a greater strategist than the emperor ever thought he was", Shang had acknowledged._

_It had rained for days, a censure of the gods, an infectious wetness that festered in Koguryo. Their boots were heavy with sludge, the austere armour an increasing burden._

_A detour! He heard the command as clearly as he heard the pouring rain. _

_The Ryoha river had been blocked, barricaded with an iron-clad bastionhad it meant that Mundok had known of their advancehe wondered worriedly. Perhaps he vexed himself unduly. The other captains arched on expressionlessly, bearing the royal coat of arms with a rigid air. _

_"The truth, Shang?" Another had scoffed. "The emperor fears an alliance between the Huns and Mundok. Two million troops? Why this big a campaign?"_

_And then idle talk had ceased; they had crossed into Koguryo. _

_Emptiness - it was his first thought, heartbreaking emptiness and a suspicious void where only the breaths of swirling mists were heard. The disturbing lack of villagers, the razed farms - where were they? There was only the enduring stench of burnt soil and scorched wood, but nary a soul around, hardly the spoils of war. _

_A tentative victory song floated upwards, sung by an anonymous soldier, slowly catching on until the platoon rumbled heartily with it. It kept their spirits up despite the dismal weather. _

_They needed to back-track westwards and then advance again southwest of the Ryoha - it cost them valuable time, and a few days worth of precious food supplies; they ran low in stock with the lack of villages to plunder, losing several men daily to the humiliation of starvation. _

_But against the odds it seemed, the wide Salsu river beckoned, swelling with heavy power, rife with yellow mud, its thunderous whisper an unsettling ache in the bellies of the soldiers. Finally, an open pathway into Pyongyang, a mere thirty miles to the execution of a fight exuberantly planned to its grandiose climax over the course of years. _

_The rush of water was shocking; they turned, facing the annual monstrous runoff from the Salsu, realising belatedly that they stood downstream of the avalanched precipitate, imprisoned by the suffocating current that swept a million troops away. _

_He saw them drown, indescribable horror printed on their faces, freewheeling swiftly down the muddy rapids. But Mundok's army still waited, a solid fortress in itself that made Pyongyang impregnable. _

_Oh, he fought as hard as he could, surpassing the effort he had previously mustered against the Hun invaders, rushing towards the Koguryo army; out of the corners of his eyes blood splattered freely, screams that signified a slaying echoed vastly throughout the terrifying hours. _

_Sword slashes and firepower, confusion and chaos, a descent into the levels of hell, trapped in a night everlasting, a systematic shattering of the illusion of victory._

_In the end, it was very simple - he had turned, as did a mere handful of others, a pathetic proportion of their two million strong army, stumbling blindly into no man's land, muted by the devastation._

_A fresh, sharp sting of tears surprised himwiping his hand over his cheek, he realised he was cryingso were the other soldiers who limped, clutching their aching chests, weeping, kissing the wet soil with tears of repentant sinners_

What they had thought of as a landslide victory led to the inhalation of the bitterest aftertaste of defeat. 

Shang started violently, yanked out of the trap of nightmares by the sounds of a vicious struggle, awakened to the steady throb of a head wound. In an instant, he realised that he was bound tightly to a treehe must have fallen unconscious when the Huns had attacked

A frantic glance about him revealed that they were in a wooded area, hidden from the benevolent mysteries of the moon, shuttered under the gloom of night and the distant cackle of a lonely fire. 

They must have rode out far, past the steppes and far deeper north than he would imagine he would ever venture out, now that the borders were really overrun. 

The distinctive crumple of boulders that stretched a long, horizontal line in the distance disturbed him; if his memory served him correctly, the great fortifying bulwark of Qin must have extended here, down to the southern edge of the Mongolian plainsand yet this part of the border did not seem to exist any longer! The sickening realisation was a hard pummel in his gut - the north-western walls were merely earth-mounds, easily trampled down, not made of earth and stone faced with brick as they were on the eastern front. 

The borders had been more widely breached than he had dared to imagine. But to consider such implications at present was simply too daunting, a sheer impossibility when two successive shouts brought his head swinging wildly towards his left. 

Ping! 

He heard the strange, convoluted tongue of the Mongols, expletives hurled at their other stubborn prisoner. 

Ping was struggling even though he was tied at the wrists as well, slithery as a snake, roiling between their grasp, a sight which, despite the grimness of their situation, begged to draw dark chuckles of amusement from him. The surprising agility of the petite soldier was nonetheless unexpected; the opportunity to regain an upright position would have perhaps pitched the odds in Ping's favour. 

He was disarmed, as was Ping; the mere body movements of one were absurd, ridiculous and of no effect against a Hun army.

Yet a limit had been reached; Shang watched the Huns' gradual but alarming erosion of tolerance for the self-indulgent game that Ping played, a game which Ping apparently turned into mere diversion, a generation of hope in the formidable face of hopelessness. 

He nodded severely to himself - the knowledge was known to both of them, an uncanny instinctive reminder that the result of captivity in the hands of the northern tribes needed neither further analysis nor further explanation of how it would all end. Individuals against established governing systems never triumphed, and the obstinate principle remained that individuals would not last against a hostile coalition of the northerners. The hard lesson of Koguryo had been bitterly learnt and now he faced the revisitation of the same black dread in the faces of the Huns. 

Ping was turning pale, Shang thought; perhaps he caught sight of something yet to distinctively materialise out of the darkness.

The men, overwhelming in their gigantic frames, sniffed fear. The sudden jocund expressions of their foreign tongue made her flinch; thoughts of prisoner torture renewed her efforts to weakly wriggle free. Indeed, she struggled for their hold was strong but overwhelming terror was her tormentor when she was stringed upwards, hung in the middle branches of a tree, directly facing the equally ashen Marshal who tensed against his bonds. 

She saw the unvoiced warning in his eyes; he willed her to stay pliant, but she would not - could not - do so. 

It was too late; impertinence would no longer be tolerated. 

From a coarse Hun robe a whip was deliberately removed, and its immediate, characteristic crack on across her back stunned her; her scream of pain echoed loud and high across the glade, the unambiguous scream of a woman. 


	9. The Unveiling

**Author's Note: **

***Evil laugh*** _I see you loved the suspense. ;-p Once more, thank you so so much for reading this story, every one of you who reviewedI'm so glad you found the time to do so. ;-) Yes, after that somewhat long hiatus, I'm back - and with the chapter that you all have been waiting for._

_Arghok, I confess to sloppy scholarship here - I'm using the terms Monguls and Huns interchangeably in the past chapters, and grouped them together as invaders. Technically, there is a difference between them, but it's somewhat complicated and I won't go into it. Goodness knows how many I have already bored to tears with the overload of historical references! ;-p_

_Am at the moment, contemplating how to bring the story to a close, yes it's ending soon, believe it or not (any suggestions?) - hey, it's supposed to be a short one anyway and to think that I had hoped it would have been shorter! _

_Anything you wish to particularly see? ;-p Tell me! vesania@gmx.net_

_And yes, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all._

**Chapter 8: The Unveiling**

_You had sent me not one sign from your exile   
Till you came to me last night in a dream,   
Because I am always thinking of you.   
I wondered if it were really you,   
Venturing so long a journey.   
You came to me through the green of a forest,   
You disappeared by a shadowy fortress  
Yet out of the midmost mesh of your snare,   
How could you lift your wings and use them?   
I woke, and the low moon's glimmer on a rafter   
Seemed to be your face, still floating in the air.   
There were waters to cross, they were wild and tossing;   
If you fell, there were dragons and rivermonsters._  
- Du Fu, Seeing Li Bai in a Dream (Tang Dynasty Poetry)

She keeled over, feeling the aftermath of the whip and the involuntary, sinister ache of an exposed identity, having ridden the culmination of the years of deception to its terrible zenith. Had the reversal of time been possible, she thought with gritted teeth, it would have been more than beneficial to hold her tongue and maintain the stoic silence of warriors under torture - but surely they did cry out unintelligibly under duress - just as the matchmaker had castigated her to do so long ago. 

Yet what would the trophy of silence and gritted teeth be when it seemed that individual bravery and valiant hearts of deceased soldiers merely passed fleetingly through the lips of poets as shooting stars in the everlasting night sky? 

_May the gods help me_, she repeated fervently with murmuring lips, shutting her eyes tightly, a chilling fusion of dread and trembling.

The unambiguous scream of a womanthe cry that stilled her Hun captors into momentary paralysissurely it could only have emanated from Ping! All eyes were trained on her, the sudden silence deafening. 

It was a Herculean effort that he spent straining against his bonds - he did not know what to make of the warring emotions that swirled within; he knew that he needed to get to her fast; surely a woman's stature would not tolerate the beatings well

Shang heard the unforgiving crack of the whip resound time and again; he forced his eyes to watch her contorted anguish, and the self-inflicted punishment that she now placed upon herself for crying out the first time - the tight, white-lipped mouth that now refused to let any sound past after the last, accidental slip.

The last swoop of the whip through the air had swung her lithe frame forward, cracking the branches onto which she had been strung across - Ping collapsed with a dull thud, and with great swiftness her covering tunic was shredded by the Mongol who had held the whip, the ravenous, brutal condition of one bent on plunder. 

Shang stared, an infinitesimal moment of wonder at the remarkable resilience of the woman warrior. The kick of urgency unfroze his muscles; he struggled as she did nowoh god, his bonds - he could not get them free! Helplessly bound, he watched in disbelief the bands of broad linen cloth that emerged from beneath the tunic wrapped snugly around her chest, the pale, muscular shoulders and arms of a woman that tensed reflexively when the Hun soldier lunged for her. 

It seemed as if the camp had fallen under an avalanche of snow - they froze, with undeniable leers that grew in proportion with the slow crawling of time. The Mongols watched attentively, feeding lustily on her growing panic. 

Mulan acted out of pure instinct and self-preservation, rolling onto her front and barely avoided the force of the Mongol's weight pressed upon her - her defiance angered him; it seemed that the game played was now on a different field, where the pivot had turned on the prisoner and captor - the game they played on now was indeed the oldest in time, a pitting of the genders, the ominous fixture of the knowing, sexual captor and its unwilling, conquered prey. 

The sickness deep in her belly intensified as she glanced at the bright triumph zigzagging across their faces, the detestable sneer aimed at the futility of her every move. 

No, it hurt too much; the welts caused by the whip had started bleeding, staining the ground a stubborn maroon and her fight was tiring

The sudden bellow that sounded from the far left halted her captor's movement. 

"Have you been long without a woman that mere semblance of one would send you into a fit of hysterics?" It was a harsh taunt, bent on degradation. 

She was unceremoniously dropped as her captor growled in response, straightening before the commanding, imperious tone that demanded obedience. 

"Loose their bonds." 

The sudden freedom of movement lifted the increasing distress that had begun to rot the spirit within. 

As far as her eyes allowed, Mulan blinked to see a man garbed in full armour sitting atop his horse, calculating in his stance, which unquestionably blended authority and arrogance in his bearing. 

Who were they, that the Mongols obeyed them without question, albeit with grudging reluctance? 

"We return to the Hun camp," the man still spoke, his gaze level now. "I will speak to your leader," he nodded towards the fallen soldiers. "Bring them along."

It was nothing short of bewildering, this latest twist of fate that had been dished out to them; she found herself wanting to cry and laugh, nursing the growing need to fling herself into the nothingness beyond. 

But it was not the abysmal blackness that she thought she had beheld, but rather an entire troop of soldiers that stood at his command, the unending line of horses that stretched east to west, called to hail destruction and torment at the mere lift of his hand. 

But for now, his words had saved her and she sagged in relief, not noticing the tense surprise that flitted through the eyes of the Marshal. The nameless soldier dismounted, and with a surprising gentleness placed a hand on the shoulder of Li Shang, whistling for a riderless horse. 

"Ride with her," He urged the Marshal softly before returning to his own mount. "We will speak again, though not now." 

The memories were strengthening and their hold on him tightened, the fragments of Koguryo creeping on his flesh as he lifted her the way he had lifted his dying friends onto Chinese soil. She shifted uncomfortably, unable to stay in place for fear of rupturing the wounds further. 

"Do not speak, Ping," He murmured gently. She saw that his eyes were puzzlingly bright and glassy, a display of rare emotion and withheld tears. 

But she needed to ask questions

"That manwho is he?" 

"Li Yuan, a Marshal of the North, and a relative of mine." He glanced at her worriedly. "You need rest, Ping."

"Mulan." She whispered softly, drifting slowly but surely into unconsciousness. 

"What?" He queried in slight confusion. 

"The name is Mulan." 

"Till morning, Mulan. We will talk later. Rest now." He tested her name tentatively, relishing the favourable roll of her name, rediscovering the facets of this soldier that now dropped into place - the effeminate stance, her gentle manner with horses, and the overshadowing, bewildering inner strength and wilful stubbornness that had made him mistake her for a man.

**********

_Very presumptuous of me to write of Li Shang as a relative of Li Yuan (Hey, they share the same surname don't they)! Heeheebut it is, after all, fictionland. The historical Li Yuan was from an aristocratic family background, which had become influential under the Northern Wei, his grandfather having created the Duke of Tang. His ancestry can be traced back to the Hun, and his ethnic background was a mixture of Chinese, Xianbei and Turkish. Early in his career Li Yuan had occupied a series of important military posts, and in 617 A.D he was appointed garrison commander at Taiyuan, a key strategic position in present-day Shaanxi, a place which was traditionally regarded as impregnable._


	10. Vigil

**Author's Note:**

_Hereanother chapter for you all. I'm glad you like the story. Thank you all, for your kind reviews. I really wasn't planning on updating so soon - a fatalistic, black and evil writer's block seems to be descending. _

_I'm still figuring out the plot turns (still heck of a headache) and as said, am fighting an accursed block on this story so this is more of an in-depth character sketch on our favourite characters. Rejoice! We find out what on earth Mulan did in that 5 years. From here onwards the story can go several ways - but I can't promise a happy, romantic ending as yet. _

_On the downside, it does look like there might be a temporary hiatus on this story - both the absence of inspiration and the busyness of real life interfere. I ask for your patience in thismany thanks. _

**Chapter 9: Vigil **

The heat of her forehead bode ill. The camp was silent; the only noises were the disturbing and occasional moans that emanated from the convulsing figure on the pallet. The discordant sounds of pain had receded into the grey middle ground, on which she was a lost wanderer unbound by ritualistic cycles of the sun and moon. In the delirious haze warm hands had passed over the feverish heat of her forehead; a familiar and faint voice cajoled and demanded her wakefulness, yet its strong arms could not yet uproot her from the encompassing deep slumber.

The crippling and difficult conclusion that he came to was that there was little he could do without skilled physicians. Her wounds had split deeper than he had expected and infection had set in quickly, pushing Ping - _no, her name was Mulan -_ Li Shang corrected himself hastily, onto the bridge that spanned the deep chasm of life and world beyond. 

It annoyed him, that he had only learnt the truth of her sex through the strange twist of circumstances, and it angered him further, that she had neither intention nor willingness to pursue her past and identity had the unfortunate capture not happened. 

Yet within this anger, worry and grudging concern stirred as he beheld the seeking, alternating game that the red flushes and the pallid paleness played on her skin, knowing that the malady that plagued her was all too familiar; most soldiers struck with the same infection lived the last hours of their lives caught between incoherent strands of memories and cresting swells of physical agony. 

_And there was Juanyun, the captain of the fill-fated third march into Koguryo, the quiet fighter who had stumbled through the Salsu with several arrow wounds, his lips pressed onto Han soil, thanking the heavens that he was alive, only to collapse in acute pain later that night in the barren wastes when he discovered the stinking morass of the yellow Salsu had torn through his already weakened bodily defence._

_And Deng, whose last breath left his body as he fell face forwards disabled by the numbing cold on the Koguryo's border during their desperate, blind retreat. _

More had died en route to Luoyang, slain by the same fever that gripped her now. 

It was enough. He needed to shake off the nightmarish vestiges of the Koguryo campaign each time he saw open and heavy wounds here, each time he heard a shout of alarm there. It accelerated their heartbeats, he saw, swerving them towards a painless nothingness that they cried for - gone were the grandiose dreams of victory and even the simple request for the absence of pain. 

"There is little chance of her surviving." The observation was curt, matter-of-fact and perhaps tinged with veiled sympathy, like one who consciously forced himself to experience much but merely feel little, a consenting victim of paralysis.

Shang did not look up. Li Yuan was the only one in the Mongul camp who spoke without the crude inflections of accented Chinese. 

How was he to reply to such a question? Was he to deny the simply truth that laid bare the severity of their situation, or was he to confirm such a statement that crushed the stubborn, continuous blossoming of flickering hope? Fit was no marshal who admitted disease's victory - or any other victory for that matter - over his soldiers until death claimed them. His mouth opened slightly - a retort - or perhaps even a scream of denial - 

He never knew what would have happened should he have answered angrily. His tongue stayed, quelled into silence. 

Such was the better answer. 

Neither uncle nor nephew crumbled unto the uncomfortable tension until Li Yuan stepped forward, stooping beside Mulan. 

"A foolish girl," he murmured softly, as if to himself. "Why fight for a cause already lost?" 

"Do not question the motives of my soldiers!" 

Li Yuan turned to face Shang at last, a hooded expression on his face. 

"Do you not wonder yourself, nephew? Aren't you burning, as I am, to now discover all that can be peeled off this simple chit?" He questioned coolly, his eyes narrowing. 

Gods, but it took all his willpower to school his face into an impassive mask, one that he knew betrayed not the slightest hint of emotion. 

"She will be questioned in time." Shang tried another tack. 

His uncle smirked slightly. 

"The sheer presence of a woman overturns the confidence of men." And then his tone darkened. "You show impetuous trust in the willpower of men." 

"Why choose to believe the worst when there is enough around you to make one cry with great despair? Why do you put additional burden on your soldiers to-"

He never completed his sentence; he realised that the figure on the floor was suddenly lucidly awake, her unnaturally bright eyes fixed upon them. 

"Strong one, she is."

Shang could only nod, his constricted throat disallowing any form of speech. 

"You are free to go," Li Yuan abruptly announced. He held up a hand, halting the surprise exclamation that he saw would have emerged from Shang's lips. "You underestimate the power of binding treaties between the northern tribes and the northern Hans, bygone agreements that the ever-changing emperors scoff at. It is for both our interests that you go free -" He threw down a brown packet at Mulan's feet staring straight into her eyes. "And alive as well. Your fever has broken. Boil these herbs over the course of 3 days." 

"Waityou are not simply -" She spoke slowly, a crunching noise of gravel.

"You fight for the Han army," Li Yuan continued gravely. "Tides change. Very soon there will be rebellion and people will be forced to switch allegiances. Will you willingly serve me, and the Mongul alliances? Do you truly treasure allegiance, or do you covet days of peace more?"

So that was why he was willing to let them go - alive - and free, at least temporarily. Li Yuan saw their stunned faces and smiled again. 

"Your horses wait to carry you back to wherever you came from," He paused as if deep in contemplation. "One day, the northern dukes will show the land of Qin the weakness of Sui. And when that day comes, I expect that your unwavering loyalty. But if you choose your allegiance to the House of Sui" He left his sentence unfinished. They stared back at him, as though he had become delusional. He saw their faces and spoke fiercely. "Why put a cap on the power of ambition?" With this pregnant question Li Yuan turned on his heel and left. 

Was he tainted by illusions as much as they were tainted by their own dreams in which they thought a flimsy and fragmented dynasty could be held together by the external strengthening of borders? 

"Farewell nephew," He stood at the threshold, caught by the last wind of philosophical musing. "Maybe we will meet again, perhaps under less than inviting circumstances. You serve now a crumbling empire that strives among rising discontent to keep its place among the northern tribes and its respect of the people. How can that be done? The son of Yang Jian is no fool, yet an individual is powerless against hostile forces that are threaten to overrun all that he wishes to accomplish." 

He trusted so little, Li Shang saw with no great sorrow, for one had much to be watchful for if they dwelt within the varied and diverse lands of the north. 

Mulan shifted and his thoughts of his uncle were no more. Yet they were both robbed of words, facing each other not as marshal and soldier, but man and woman for the first time. 

"You will live," He said grimly, choosing instead to mask emotions that threatened to boil over. 

She nodded in acknowledgement awkwardly, accepting the hand that he offered her to sit up. 

"I would demand an explanation from you," The Marshal stated firmly. "But later, only when you feel better." He eased a water skin near her lips and watched her drink deeply from it. 

"Would it ease your discomfort, Marshal Li, if you knew all about me?" Her question, so effused with honesty, could only elicited a guileless response from him. He was disarmed; he nodded, and leant forward to absorb her tale. 

It was a struggle to speak of the painful times of the past 5 years; he watched her face grow progressively more sorrowful, as the waves of memories crashed upon the distant shores of her memory banks. 

"You left me halfway to find my way home the time of the Hun attack at the _Tung Shao_ Pass. I travelled for another half-month before I heard the screams of a child. Thinking that I had returned, I dismounted, only to find charred remains and stray bamboo that lay where my village was." Her eyes had grown dim, bleached of their natural radiance; the difficulty of dredging up memories infected her as deeply as physical disease had weakened other men. 

"The screams I heard were the last screams that came from the pillaging of the village - it grew too suddenly silent as the last were killed and I knew that I had arrived too latebut perhaps the most that I could have done was to waste my last breath in its defence. And seeing no hope I fell upon the ground and wept, seeing only the swish of the tails of the retreating Mongul horses. Khan stood by my side all the while, and finally, we headed northeast, wandering aimlesslyI don't remember now, weakened by injury and lack of food, until we stumbled onto the borders of the central plains." 

Both of them fell silent - she with the rapidly dwindling strength that flowed out of her inversely proportionate to her growing tale, and he with increasing astonishment that accompanied the extraordinary happenings she was narrating. 

"It was a fair I saw, a colourful mockery at the backdoor of lingering death. But there I met kindly people - gypsies as they called themselves; a particular pair of them nursed me back to health and I thought them strange and dangerous, until they told me that they were wanderers who moved from place to place free of kingdom worries, tending only what were their own." 

"What were their names, Mulan?" He asked softly, entranced the imagery that exploded in his mind. "What were they likehow did they?" 

He seemed to understand that she needed more water, its cool essence the only force that aided her waning wakefulness. 

"Li Feiyan and Ushahin Nask," she replied tiredly after a time. "The Flying Swallow and the Prayer of Midnight - people of varied descent and named after boundless nature. I stayed with them, moving wherever they did, learning the tricks of their trade, until - until" Mulan coughed hard, unable to endure the strain of her wounds and the unrelenting force of memories that tore through her simultaneously. 

"Say no more and save your strength," he whispered. "Forgive my temerity to ask of you such a thing when you are clearly still weak." 

But now that the floodgates had opened, it was as if she did not want to stop - she suddenly wanted to cry and mourn for all that was lost in the noisiest manner possible, but was yet restrained by the Marshal. 

"There is much time for this, later. There is more that I want to hear as much as you wish to tell," Shang promised wryly. "We will leave this hostile place tomorrow, at first light of day." 

And as if he doubted her trust, he added stiffly, "You may expectthat I will act honourably towards you as I do to my other soldiers." 

But she was already drifting, carried on the soft sounds of his calming voice, freed by the flood of memories, lifted on the _Kyrgyz's_ song that Ushahin used to sing whenever they moved over barren land. 

**********  
***Kyrgyz** - Presumably a Central Asian term for Nightingale, which is actually the title of a song of the Silk Road


	11. Pilgrimage of Hope

**Author's Note: **

_Sheesh, I realised it has been indeed a long 6 months since I've updated…and my apologies for that. My promise was that I would eventually finish this story – a promise I fully intend to keep, no matter how slow the updates seem in coming. Real life has a nasty way of interfering. I am alive, and have been working on other stories to keep the brain juices going, but I did need the break away from this for a while. _

_Another reason for being so tardy was the headache of ending this story of course, but I think I've more or less got it figured out. _

_Thank you for your patience and I hope you guys are still willing to come back to this and pick it up where I've also picked it up. Do drop me a review and let me know what you think. _

**Chapter 10: Pilgrimage of Hope **

"They died. A raid by the Huns on our temporary camp killed many…women, children, animals…I had nothing…no one…"

Mulan spoke the words aloud tonelessly, flinging the returning grief into the first fingers of sunlight, the song of the nightingale interrupted by harsh memory. Sour in taste, wakefulness clawed at her skin.

A sudden cough made her clutch her sides in agony.

"Who?" Shang perked awake as soon as her cracked voice wafted over him, but he already knew the answer as soon as the monosyllable tore loose; she was referring to the Flying Swallow and the Prayer of Midnight – anonymous vigilante gypsies with names steeped in legend – with whom Mulan had spent precious years with. And he ached – and trembled! – to peel back the layers that steeped her in deep, luscious mystery the same way one carved the delicate skin off a peach…in a parallel, mute universe where fire mated with water, his lips could touch hers.

Her eyes fluttered weakly, closing in exhaustion, her hand moving automatically to cover her side again, coming off stained a crimson red.

"Mulan…no…Mulan…look at me," he commanded sternly, failing to keep moisture out of his blurring vision, yet refusing to blink lest he missed any breath from her that might have been her last.

"Physicians abound in the city!" Shang urgently prodded, his hands large and warm over her shoulders, slightly shaking. He stirred into action; a single swing of the arm mounted himself and her on the horse. "If you will but hold…"

Without hesitation, he kicked the horse into a gallop, heading southeast with the same unrelenting determination of a messenger sent to bear news that signalled the birth or demise of a kingdom.

"I am sorry, Mulan," he whispered as she flinched at every slight undulation of the earth, his hands alternatively holding her sides and grasping the reins. High above them, Shang spied a swallow spread its wings over the tall sky, infinity stretched in its oval eyes, bound in its long tail, veering left as soon as his eye caught it.

The rhythmic clod of the hooves plunged Mulan back into the depths of unconsciousness, and from its murkiness a kaleidoscopic, faceted beauty wrestled free with the sprightly energy of a fireworks burst – jumbled, coalescing images of broad avenues that linked narrow, winding lanes, black oxen and white horses, coaches carved painstakingly out of fragrant woods, palanquins that swept past mansions of the rich, fire-breathing dragons that gorged on redness, and a phoenix draped in sunset clouds under canopies that caught the glint of the moonrise – an unimaginable feast dished out for the mind's eye as they skirted the plains and the large plateau.

Through a bird's eye, the filaments of the Silk Route fused; Mulan remembered how the bazaars bloomed madly and bountifully, wares separated by type and distinctly divided by rows, with no room for people to even move their bodies a fraction, or for horses and carts to wander. All spilled onto the dirt roads, breathing the mingling, unusual scents of the North and the West, piling bushes of rice and other grains as they saw fit…loud, joyous singing that reverberated as noise, where strange, holy men proclaimed the pure spirit of the Triune speaking of an ancient dispensation and prophecy, a virgin birth and falsehoods of an Evil Being, together with peddlers and onlookers who tossed coins towards the Bodhisattvas and the heavenly kings.

In it she lived all that had been the world to her, lived it to completion where reality had discontinued it. Then, it had been a pilgrimage of hope, as they crossed Chang'an to the West, and back again.

Nondescript faces flipped past her…bearded wise men who hailed the Middle Kingdom as the great land of Sinim…cackling jesters who danced precariously with irreverence on tomes of philosophical writings…slowly that gallery stopped its whirl; she faced her Grandmother and parents…they melted away, taking the shape of the monstrous figure of a Hun…yet screams were muted and silent…until a hand jostled her awake, pulling her from the mesh of time's constriction.

"Mulan. Open your eyes and look."

In his gaze there was relief tempered with joy as she looked up slowly at him. So the Marshal had indeed not gone off course as she had initially feared.

The city of Luoyang where soldiers were conscripted and regrouping appeared in front of her; they rode slowly through its angular, choked streets, until a quieter back lane that spliced the main street gave him the opportunity to dismount. Despite his panic-quickened footsteps, the gentleness in the way he carried her to the physician's shop was the cool refreshing breeze of the dawn, before the afternoon heat gobbled it up.

Quick work was done of disrobing her; helmet, armour, cloth and undergarments cut away with no second thought; Shang turned his eyes away as her bandages were unrolled, glimpsing exposed white flesh that made him shudder with a sentiment he did not yet want to name.

A basin of hot water, fresh white linen, the pungent aroma of healing herbs, a panicked Marshal and a wounded soldier – a mind-boggling metaphysical bond that seared itself onto the tablets of memory.

Assessing eyes studied the unmoving female form, before turning over to the anxious Marshal.

"Your work is commendable, Marshal Li; you are a worthy leader of your soldiers," the Physician stated calmly, without room for argument. "But for now, it is done. No further harm will come to her as long as she remains here."

Shang's brow furrowed and with great reluctance he nodded abruptly, stepping outside to behold a gathering crowd of soldiers milling about the imperial city.

"Marshal Li!"

He turned with interest, seeing Captain Wang Xun in the throng of approaching soldiers. They clapped shoulders briefly, a rich greeting of dismayed happiness.

"This is no news for any greeting, Li Shang." Wang said seriously. Shang nodded once more, a dull acknowledgement.

"Word came fast that you had returned to the city. The northern troops stationed past Tung Shao have reported an army of barbarians fleeing west, merging again with another troop at the confluence of the Wei tributary," Wang Xun announced grimly.

"Military commanders from the East and the South are called to Luoyang? No army of such a scale has ever been assembled," Shang exclaimed in wonder, his eyes widening.

"No," Wang interrupted. "Yang Di is trapped in his own political envisionings to harness Qin's military might. Only Marshals loyal to Sui gather who they can, what they can."

"How much time?"

"Maybe two weeks, maybe less. Their numbers grow as they sweep the trail down the rivers. Villages will burn, fields will be destroyed. They head towards Chang'an. My guess, however, is that Tung Shao will again be their route."

"Who leads the army?" His shoulders suddenly tensed, nursing a growing pressure in his neck that threatened a pounding headache.

Wang eyed Shang speculatively before answering.

"Li Yuan, and maybe Shan-Yu."

**_Chang'an _** – Ancient capital of more than 10 Dynasties in China, which flourished the greatest, I believe, in the Tang Dynasty. It means city of perpetual peace in Classical Chinese.


	12. The Move For Battle

**Author's Note: **

_Thank you all for not forgetting this story! I am busy – RL you see…but really can't wait to finish this. Finally, I have some time to get this done. This is the last chapter but well, I'll be posting an Epilogue and a Timeline with it hopefully some time soon. _

_Once more, am so grateful for your support of this re-telling, especially I wasn't sure how this would turn out when I first started writing it. Trying to merge history, with the cartoon, with the actual version that happened (Mulan going home for so many years before everyone found out) was really quite a challenge. That being said, I hope the conclusion doesn't disappoint. Do let me know what you think. Hopefully you found it exciting to read as I had to write it. _

_I'll be away from home for a while, but I promise the final parts will be up when I get back. _

**Chapter 11: The Move for Battle **

The parallel rows of the tents laid across the plains were white rows lost in the morning fog, placed on an earth and moss palette, stretched as far as the eye could see. Shang moved briskly among the restless soldiers, stepping into the largest tent at the end of the rows. There was so little time left, so little time to speak with Captain Zhihui, or his officers who had accompanied him to the border regions. His vision was trained on the small ray of yellow light that peeked out from that tent's opening, just as sieges and battles passed from year to year and from memory to memory in a strangely divided consciousness.

He remembered suddenly, not the hopelessness of Koguryo, nor the tight feeling in his chest as he saw the crumbling Sui empire, but a cot that supported a frail woman, where he had hesitantly, with an increasingly complex and composite amalgam of trepidation and frustration placed a hand over hers as she lay unconscious.

"Marshal Li." Wang Xun's voice broke his reverie. "We move in five days. Eight days of preparation were already more than we could hope for." A calloused, stubby finger pointed at the crumpled leather map, tracing lightly over the familiar routes of battle. "Tung Shao remains the last stand, before all is overrun. Come, and look at our chosen route."

"You do not mince words, Wang Xun."

Shang saw an eyebrow lift sardonically.

"Then we are men of few words, Marshal Li, which is a lesser evil than those who splutter and overflow with empty threats or promises."

"There will be chaos again, bloodshed…" Shang sighed heavily. "I tire after all these years of holding my sword." The active dislike of open battles had, over the years, without his realisation, congealed into a firm hatred of violence and unrest. Black, bitter hate of all things that drew blood and now the very things he loathed now seemed to be the exact same fixation Ping – _no, Mulan _ – had, almost fashioned out of revenge, anger and guilt. He knew that she would now be a formidable foe on the battlefield, her rage becoming the inflexible, undeterred swing behind her sword and the channel of energy behind each hit. And her guilt…manifested itself in the hairbreadth scrapes of injury that she gave no heed to, as though each nick or slash she received were deserved.

Briefly, Shang wondered if the naïve, clumsy girl who first joined his ranks as Ping all those years ago still existed.

"No!" Wang Xun said sharply, narrowing his eyes in distaste. His gaze was naked, frank; Shang fought the urge to break the silent battle of their stares.

Was it not true? It was not only the coveted physical territory that lay at the forefront of their perception, but also the hope that what they had found in themselves to defend had not diminished.

"Wha…? You don't?" He surprised even himself with the slight tinge of bitterness that seeped through his voice.

"But you are wrong." A voice spoke up weakly from the back of the tent, startling him. Shang squinted at the back of the large tent, barely making out a figure huddled in blankets, seated on the mat-covered ground. It was as if his musings had indeed sprung to life; she sat barely three feet away from him just as thoughts of her had pervaded his mind.

"Mulan…where…did…how…?"

"She requested an audience with me, Shang. There was something about the alliance that we had not taken into account." Wang Xun paused, eyeing Mulan.

"Well? What is it?" He asked impatiently, his glance moving from the Captain to Mulan.

"That, Marshal, is something that she has yet to reveal." In Wang's eyes, he glimpsed frustration, admiration and perhaps, the suggestion of disgust and loathing. "It's simple enough. There is to be an exchange – she tells us something, in return for her joining the battle."

"_WHAT?!_" Shang exploded, beyond belief, before rounding on her. "Have you lost your head? Or haven't you learnt enough in the pitiable time we spent in captivity in the Border regions? Or has the very obvious fact that you are still ill not crossed your mind?"

"Do you not realise, this battle is not only about me, nor only about you, Marshal Li?" She questioned coldly, eyes not leaving his.

"An ill, sickly soldier hinders, not helps his comrades – you _do not _ understand, Ping –" the more familiar of names reached his tongue first, where old habits were hard to break, "you had been close to hysterics and delirium before you began to recover!"

"That ill, sickly soldier coincidentally has more battle experience and strength with a sword than a hundred of your young recruits. I am almost recovered." He started moving towards her just as she struggled to her feet under his distrustful eyes, throwing off the blankets that she had kept around her.

Suddenly, he remembered that they had an audience.

"Wang Xun, please give us a moment. I swear however, by the time we finish…" Shang said through gritted teeth, "there will be a compromise."

"As you wish," Wang complied, a hint of a smirk lining his face as he stepped out of the tent. It seemed a fortuitous escape route before the monstrous conception of a fight burst and spewed a violent birth of harsh words and raised voices.

"You do not trust me, Marshal Li." He turned back to her, deciding not to bite back the response he had held back for too long.

"Should I, Ping, or should I say, _Mulan_? I told you previously that I did…but maybe this is something I should rethink," Shang said acidly, emphasising her name, noting the defiance in her stance. He smiled inwardly, pleased with the slight inroad they were making. "Should I trust someone who has shielded her identity so well, not knowing that she might also shield something else from us?"

"What are you saying, Marshal Li?"

"I am saying-" He closed the gap between her and him, roughly grabbing both her wrists and jerking her towards him; sensing the resistance that would be forthcoming, held her hands close in front of her, tightly clasped towards her own chest. She was yanked towards him, the force drawing their bodies uncomfortably close together…it brought her delicate features under his close scrutiny…he tried to ignore it as best as he could without succumbing to the urge to explore their gentle curves with his fingertips, "that your very presence is a liability to the army, coupled with the fact that you have lied about your sex and also withhold vital information are ample reasons enough for me to expel you from our grounds."

"Fool!" She spat derisively, jolting her wrists against his iron-grip, two poppy-coloured spots highlighting her otherwise colourless face and looked up with an unwavering gaze. He was suddenly uncertain, upon whom she has bestowed that dubious honour. It was a feeble hold she tried for, pushing it for all it was worth.

"If I am expected to defend my cause to you, Marshal Li, as you might wish for all your thousand soldiers under you, the battle then surely belongs to the Huns and not to the Middle Kingdom."

Whatever it was he was expecting to hear, it was not that. Ping spoke nothing about her deception, not even with the slightest hint of repentance.

"I told Captain Wang about this…particular exchange. My life on the battlefield for this vital piece of information. But I want you, of your own accord, to command me to join the ranks of your soldiers only because you see my skills surpass that of your other warriors. I have nothing left to lose, Shang."

Shang blinked. Was what this sudden, ludicrous mental state that she appeared to have fallen into? He found himself wearied after this short time, not pretending anymore to understand what she was driving at. She needed to wield a sword – he refused – for a tangle of reasons that he did not quite wish to unravel yet.

She was dangerous – _quietly and unthinkably _ dangerous rather than accidentally dangerous as she had been years ago if one could describe it any better – it all lay in that seemingly placid nature under which something simmering bubbled.

"No," he said finally, releasing his grip on her wrists, a sardonic smile curling his left lip. She stumbled backwards, hands automatically rubbing the circulation back in themselves. "I trusted you as Ping…Ping – that faceless, almost nameless _boy _."

"And how is Mulan any different, Shang?"

How could he explain that jumble of emotions each time he heard her feminine name, or the twinge in his stomach when he thought of the way Ping covered layers of feminine wiles and strength he was unwittingly starting to discover? Or the way he was equally bound to expel her presence from a masculine camp? The easiest way – and the most cowardly – was the assumption of the Marshal's mantle, a way that he took with some hesitation.

"No. You will leave the camp immediately." She watched in dismay as his eyes hardened. "Captain Zhihui will escort you back to the city, where you will rest in the care of the physician."

Wordlessly, she stared hard at him, before stiffly moving toward the entrance of the tent, lifting its flap, the fight seemingly drained out of her.

"Marshal Li, twenty _li _ from the Pass is a river bank that will be flooded in weeks. Villages that stood there before needed the water for their harvests – the rain will come."

And it did. A fortnight earlier the drenching rains and winds arrived, sweeping all that was loose on the ground into a river of mud on parts of the pass, rendering it inaccessible.

A quarter of the imperial army that camped at the foot of the pass, as did part of Li Yuan's forces that began their ascent on the other side of the Tung Shao, perished in the resulting mudslides and rockfalls that occurred with alarming frequency.

The flood, had also however, carved a flat, adjacent path left of the Pass, burrowing new inlets, flooding ancient caves and widened existing ones, reforming the miniscule landscape into an almost level but winding maze of a battlefield through the curve of the mountain's edge as far as the eye can see, blocked by numerous caves and dangerous precipices. A rugged, expansive snow-covered landscape defiled into a calamitous terrain – harsh, remorseless, vindictive.

Shang sat atop his steed in front of his troops, unmoving in the whipping icy wind, eyes unfocused for a split second, riding on a dream – a dream that whispered sunlight in the briskly moving cold air with the hazy memories of a child who recalled lazy days of the seasons.

The remaining soldiers, low on morale, had moved ponderously to this sole available path, unnaturally still, watching in petrified awe at the advancing Hun army. Mulan stood with the rest of the warriors, the bulky helmet concealing half her face, watching the beginning of the Hunnic advance, standing as far as she could away from Shang. No one had known – _no one needed to know _ – she thought furiously, sweat lining her brow. No one needed to know that Zhihui had relented, sending her back into camp merely a few hours after the floods had begun, where confusion and mayhem among the troops had been the best concealers of her presence.

_My head will roll for this, Ping, Zhihui had told her and sighing heavily. But I recall your skills that put many other soldiers to shame and for this much I disobey a direct order. _

_She had weakly tried to thank him, but he had put up a hand abruptly, dismissing her gratitude. _

_Your life is your own hands. If you are slain in battle, I take no responsibility for it. _

A light drizzle and a rising mist shrouded them for the moment. But before long, the grey sky split once more as if in mockery.

Just then the air whistled, and the sky was curtained momentarily by dark, pinstriped lines; a volley of fiery arrows tore down the narrow shaft of solid rock, melting the pristine ice that clung to its surface, the sinister wealth of war worn on frosty sleeves.

The Huns, Mulan thought wildly! They were closer than the Imperial had suspected – a sickening pool of dread made her clench her stomach in realisation – what they had been looking at had been in fact, the second wave of attack where they had originally supposed it was the first advance. Then hell broke loose. A dragon of fire, arrows, horseshoes and metallic armour prowled among them as man after man fell facedown into the mud, swept along with broken trees and boulders by the swelling tide of the melting snow and the resulting mudflow of the precipice. There was no glory, no luminosity in this; she saw and wanted to weep for the realisation of the cycle of unending loss splayed in the younger recruits' faces. Mulan plowed through thickly insulated bodies, stumbling sometimes over the rapidly gaining mudflow, slashing as hard as she could, drawing blood for most of the time. 

Swords crossed, and booted feet dug into the deep flowing mud, brute, savage strength pitted against the litheness and nimbleness of a female frame caught in an uneven, choppy rhythm…the warriors fell away one after another, until she was aware that she battled against one of the last Huns standing.

Without warning, they fell into an eroded, ancient cave partially destroyed by the mudslide, rolling towards increasingly towards the snowy precipice. She yelled when she landed hard, and sagged against a flat, vertical boulder dislodged from the cave walls, trying her hardest not to bend double from the blow her back had sustained.

Shan-Yu had heard her cry out as they fell. Mulan saw her opponent smile briefly, revealing a set of blood-red teeth – and the unbridled need to destroy and plunder. She knew all too well, that the revelation of her sex had altered his swordplay; it had become almost…lazy…all but fools would know that the Hun would want her alive, for reasons that made her fiercely determined to draw her own sword and split her own middle before that polluting stage was reached.

The dank mustiness of the cave wafted past her nostrils as they danced the rhapsody of death with sure footsteps and precise thrusts, each grunting with the effort of staying upright in the rumbling movements of the collapsing cave wall. They alternated between stepping into paths of pitch-blackness and greying light…but she realised that it was merely her own dimming vision caused by her failing strength.

Mulan was weakening, and so was the Mongol, and his swipe on her calf had made fall to her knees in shock, rolling back into the dank, dark cave. Its sudden silence unnerved her as she strained to hear Shan-Yu's approaching footsteps, or his growl of breath, crawling as fast as she could for the light at the far end of the cave, dragging her useless foot behind her, plunging her sword into the icy ground to gain leverage, to shove herself forward.

A thud bounced off the narrow walls mutely, its echo twisting around protruding razor-sharp stalactites. The cave ceiling near to the mountain's precipice had finally fallen through; Mulan twisted around, as far as her spine would allow, glancing at the carved pillars of ice that fantastically entwined themselves in rock, a chilling sight that awoke strange fire in her. Its crystalline halos did not last; they dissolved and disappeared under the pouring rain.

Night was falling even as the rain fell heavier…the landscape was lit by nothing else but by the uneven fire that burned out of arrows that in turn protruded out of dismembered corpses… and the perilous battle had gone past its rubicon.

A hand reached out from the darkness and suddenly broke her ankle with a nauseating crack, making her tighten her fists in the mud and scream in agony before rolling onto her back to face her attacker.

Several hundred metres away, Shang's ears picked up an unmistakable sound.

She had done it again! That fool of a woman, who bade her time slyly and wore her warrior's robes fighting among his soldiers…he realised that the scream was suddenly and quickly muffled, all the while turning to run through the mess of bodies and the remaining fighting soldiers towards the direction it appeared to be issuing from.

He went rigid, his face blanching when he caught sight of two figures struggling to gain a hold on a fallen sword, rolling until the momentum took them both over the mountain's edge.

She could not have died – Shang whipped around frantically, seeking something – _anything _- that gave him a sign that she was alive somehow…pain vied with another unidentifiable emotion as his fists clenched.

A scrabbling sound made him turn around sharply. From the sharp curve of the precipice, a broken, bloodied hand unsteadily grabbed the sharp, protruding edge of the rock, letting the sword fall into the abyss.

Relief flooded his chest and robbed him painfully of breath; he rushed to peer over the rock edge before his eyes widened in horrific surprise.

Around swung Mulan's other hand, the head of Shan Yu gripped tightly in her fingers.


	13. Epilogue

**Author's Note: **

_It ends! Well, I must say I'm relieved. Thank you all of you who reviewed, for your patience and cajoling. This story is yours. _

**Epilogue **

Long, wavering breaths danced as mists into the frigid air, whispered, splayed and vanished. Many dead, many injured, and their blood drenched red what was formerly pristine ice, white and pure.

It was perhaps in memory that scars never faded. But Shang was asking her a question, about the outer border regions that she had spent as a nomad.

"It is a beautiful place," she began, pausing to reminisce, forcing a bridge of thought between the present and past, allowing her eyes to briefly fall shut as elemental memories beckoned. "Sometimes with dunes and desert, and then there will be unending green. Mountains...they are beautiful."

"I do not doubt it," he said softly, trying to imagine the way nomads answered the persistent call of the ancient landscape that ran rings around them, such that they led lives pared down to extremes. Was the price for reinstated beauty that high to pay?

"Is there something you want to say, Mulan?"

"I want to remember Feiyan and Ushahin," Mulan blurted suddenly, startling him with her raised tone. "In this place, their faces slide off my head and I forget too easily. The Middle Kingdom is not something I feel comfortable in any longer." To her chagrin, her eyes grew moist, caught in the sentimentality of memory.

"Your heart remembers them! It was a time when you - " He interjected, cut off by her again.

"No."

"Is...there...what are you saying...?" Shang asked finally; he was puzzled and more fearful than he would ever wish to admit; her remarks appeared to be directed at something he could not yet grasp.

Mulan sighed in exasperation, wiping the droplet of water off her cheek as quickly as she could before it became a steady stream. Were they truly _all _this way?

"I am saying that I wish to return to the place where life for me began again five years ago."

He gaped at her.

"To leave this place? But...we have the victory! There will be a place for you in the imperial guards...or the Emperor will make you a Marshal in your own right - you will be handsomely rewarded..."

"The emperor? Rewards?"

Shang nodded earnestly, disbelievingly.

She scoffed cynically, falling into a silent musing, speaking only after a long pause. "Yes, maybe I will stay long enough to collect these financial reimbursements for killing the enemy. And disappear thereafter."

Shang's reaction was amusing in the least- a sputtering, incoherent string of words more commonly associated with fools, and a wide-eyed incredulity that made his eyebrows nearly disappear into his hairline. Had she been watching closely, she might have laughed in his face till he coughed to mask embarrassment.

It took a while before words formed in his throat.

"Do you not think that it is a mistake you might be making? Life out in the border regions and beyond is to say the least, harsh. Unforgiving, inhospitable."

He tried to reach for her hand, but she pulled it away in blind thoughtlessness.

"I often thought that a life outside the military would have been worth pursuing," Shang said ruefully. "But I also realise that nothing outside the world of arrows, blood and violence... I've lived so long in this - that everything else is not familiar to me any longer."

"So you do understand what I speak about! And here I wondered if I was growing mad..." 

"You _are _mad!" He shook his head almost angrily, unable to fight the growing panic that found itself in a throat that was increasingly hoarse. On the battlefield, he had believed that there was not a moment there on where he could imagine a life without her constant presence. But perhaps it was not to be. Not yet.

Once a boy whom he had thought pretty and effeminate, Shang had feared for and questioned his own sexual inclinations when Ping seemed to wedge himself in the forefront of his idle thoughts. And when he had discovered that Ping was indeed a _she _, relief and fury made unrecognisable by their sheer force wrecked him.

Just as he wanted to unravel the mystery that Mulan seemed to be -j ust before he could begin, they were parting again.

"But I want it, more than anything else," she exclaimed stubbornly before conceding, "at least for now. For some time." Its harshness reminded her most heavily, of the fragility of breath, and the fallibility of emotions. Even if it meant leaving behind this extraordinary Marshal, who was once her captain, and now- dare she say it- a friend. Had they not bonded closer than before, despite the rough patches they had gone through, all through her capture to the time of the battle?

"You are certain?" Shang queried again, feeling his insides tighten and clench.

She nodded. There appeared to be more he'd wish to say, but at the unyielding, ensuing silence that followed, Mulan could only sigh softly.

"They say the plains are dangerous..." he interrupted somewhat stupidly, searching for things to say, not wishing at all for the inevitable end of the conversation and the imminent parting.

"They are,"she shrugged lightly. "But only for those who step unknowingly into places they believe are safe."

"Will you be returning to the Middle Kingdom?" He prodded urgently, suddenly needing and dreading to know her reply. Perhaps something more direct would leave no room anymore for uncertainty. "Will I see you ever again?"

There was much Mulan wanted to say yet never thought words would ever eloquently leave her mouth- that some lives were led in comfort simply because they are built upon the labours of those whom they give no thought to, or that though they made decisions they were solely answerable for, fickleness was indeed the bringer of great doubt of sublime happiness.

In the end, her words were short.

"Perhaps we will meet again, Shang. For some reason I always seem to find myself in the military posing as a man." She willed herself to grin broadly, not wanting him to think that all that lay before them were merely the shambles of a ruined empire and the dust of glory days gone by.

They laughed a little, dispelling the frigid air slightly.

"Then," he swallowed hard, "I wish you the best in your travels." Shang took a step back, sword sheathed and helmet in hand, bowing formally on a knee to her as a soldier acknowledged a superior, forcing a small smile back onto his face.

And there were no words left to say as Mulan looked over the bland expanse of his face, tentatively taking a step to hug him loosely, patting his back awkwardly as a farewell gesture. He tightened the embrace instinctively, his hands sliding slowly up her back, feeling the amber warmth of her small frame touching his palms.

They both wondered if they would wait- for what exactly neither dared to articulate, and each murmured a cluster of prayers, hoping a meeting might happen sooner than later.

Slowly and almost shyly, his hand moved over hers and this time around she allowed it, with a grip that equalled his.

**-Fin **

_There you have it! Yes, call me E-V-I-L. _

_I've deliberately left the ending open for you guys to daydream up possibilities of how this might proceed from here onwards- it's not meant to be a sad one, really! My angsty and sometimes overly dramatic story is really about war, violence, and unacknowledged, repressed feelings that I suspect, might be typical of Shang and even of Mulan. If you are of the tragic, mooning sensibility, then perhaps they will stay apart. But for those who are undying romantics, hey, the future might just be bright for both of them. _

_Thank you all, once again, for your support. Love you guys. _


	14. Postscript, Author's Notes and Timeline

**Postscript: **

_After 3 years, Li Yuan's successful capture of Chang-An with allied northern forces and Yang Di's hanging by one of his own ministers was to propel China into one of the most remembered Dynasties of all time. _

**Timeline: **

(The actual historical timeline that the story is not partly true to)

**Events leading up to 589 A.D: **

50 years of conflict with northern tribes and Turks. Unification of south, peace made with Eastern and Western Turks, support given by northern nomadic nomads for a unified China. Emperor of mixed northern blood ascends the throne in 589 A.D, known as Yang Jian and later, Wen Di. He ascended when he deposed the child ruler of the previous Northern Zhou dynasty, securing his position after killing 59 princes of the Zhou house. He then sought to legitimate his position by presenting himself as a Buddhist _cakravartin king, _ a monarch who uses force to defend the Buddhist faith.

**604 A.D **Death of Emperor Wen, suspected murder by his own son Yang Di who ascended the throne. Yang Di drives back northern tribes who pressed the border.

**605  610 A.D **Yang Di begins the massive undertaking of the Grand Canal construction, a 1795 km long canal that runs North/South, connecting the Yellow River, the Yangtze River and the Huai River that ran West/East.

**609 A.D **A turning point in the reign of Yang Di, who became increasingly preoccupied with foreign expansion at the expense of dealing with domestic problems.

**610 A.D **I deliberately placed the Hun Battle in Disney's Mulan here.

**612  614 A.D **Yang Di leads an unsuccessful campaign against Korea, in which the Chinese Army suffered heavy losses. See _Chapter 6: The Capture_ for the details of the battle.

**615 A.D **Central Asian Turks once again invade Border Region. China crumbles when nomadic people establish control over the northern plains, bandit gangs emerged, provincial governors declared themselves rulers, uprising of peasant armies.

_Time that Taint _ is written in this time period (615 A.D  3 years before the establishment of the Tang Dynasty), where I get to slip Mulan into the Central Asian Tribes and the Silk Road, and Shang into the Korean Campaign (in the period 610  615) and get both of them to tackle once again, the Hun invasions.

**617 A.D **Yang Di in exile in Yangzhou, and there is continuing political strife for the throne.

**618 A.D **Yang Di is hanged by one of his own ministers. Li Yuan, the governor of Taiyuan, allied with a Turkish force, took over Chang-an and proclaimed himself Emperor, signalling the start of the Tang Dynasty. Chang'an, or Xi'An, became the new capital and over the next few years, the Tang army subsequently wiped out peasant and local separatist forces.

_The Huns intrigue me. They are far less easier to define, don't you think? It's entirely possible (well, I'm leaving that up to interpretation and imagination) that Mulan might have interacted with people of Hunnic origin or are Hun-mixed at least. _

**A bit of background on the Huns: (courtesy of Microsoft Encarta 2003 online) **

_The Huns are nomadic Asian people, probably of Turkish, Tataric, or Ugrian origins, who spread from the Caspian steppes (the areas north of the Caspian Sea) to make repeated incursions into the Roman Empire during the 4th and 5th centuries ad . These attacks culminated in a series of wars under Attila, the most renowned of its leaders that brought both parts of the Roman Empire, East and West, to the verge of destruction. At the height of their power the Huns absorbed a number of different racial strains in their armies and assimilated the characteristics of the populations of their environment, so that in Europe they gradually lost their distinct Asian character; but even in their pre-European period they were highly variable in their physical characteristics, and of no easily determined ethnic or linguistic identity. All accounts, however, agree in describing them as an aggressive nomadic people of great vigour and comparatively low cultural achievement, who had developed considerable skill in the techniques of warfare, particularly in military horsemanship. _


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